


The Deep End

by HannahLydia



Series: Kinktober '18 [3]
Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Atlas CEO Rhys, Begging, Daddy Kink, Kinktober, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Canon, Restraints, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-10-03
Packaged: 2019-07-24 13:08:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16175705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HannahLydia/pseuds/HannahLydia
Summary: "Jack..." He began, sounding croakier than he had expected. "Jack, I--""Oh, I'm sorry, Rhysie? Did I-- Did I say you could talk?" Dark humour tremoured through Jack's voice, and he spoke as if genuinely second-guessing himself. He waited a beat, seemed to decide something, and then sneered. "Y'know what? S'funny. I really don't think I did,"With one morbid little laugh, he raised the remote in his grip and nudged the dial with his thumb.Begging prompt for day two of Kinktober.





	The Deep End

**Author's Note:**

> All typed up on mobile so sorry in advance for any errors! Post-TFTBL, Jack has his body back, yadda yadda~ AKA: It's porn. Backstory is irrelevant B)

Friday nights at Atlas meant only one thing. Work was (mostly) over, the hard-earned weekend was here, and Rhys would have to split his time between his friends and Jack. It also meant that he could finally stop with the pretense that the Atlas-Hyperion rivalry stemmed from sheer market competition alone. The truth (which became apparent behind closed doors) was that he just wanted to show his boyfriend that he could stand on his own two feet and put up a good fight doing it. He was strong, independent. He absolutely hadn't thrown himself in the deep-end and he absolutely wouldn't hand back the company that he had stolen out from under him.

Rhys' employees needn't know he was banging their main competitor, but whenever Jack roared up to Old Haven in a gleaming yellow town-car he wondered just how many people they were fooling.

Independent, yes.  
Standing on his own two feet, absolutely.  
... So then why was he on his knees in the middle of his apartment with his arms bound behind his back?  
Somewhere along the lines Rhys had clearly lost his own memo.

This particular weekend was to be one of the rare, friendless ones. Everyone had had plans except for, well, Handsome Jack. In spite of the man's casual, play-it-cool-play-it-disinterested facade, Rhys knew that Jack would _always_ clear his calendar for him, and he had a feeling that's exactly what had happened in this case.

He'd reached out to him over ECHO, mentioned that he was going to be alone for the forseeable next few days, and Jack had turned up at his door within the hour.

His former boss had spent the first part of the evening cracking jokes, helping himself to Rhys' modest mini-bar and endlessly complaining about how shitty Old Haven was. He always liked to remind Rhys that the only good thing he'd done for the place was to kick the bandits out. The rest of it was just a shambles. After rattling off names of landscapers, architects and gardeners (all of which, Rhys noted, were on the Hyperion payroll) Jack had gotten bored, asked "are we gonna bone or what?" and demanded Rhys put on a show for him.

"W-What-- _kind_ of show?"

"... don't play coy, princess,"

With those words echoing in his mind, Rhys had stripped for him. He'd been oddly embarassed about it at first, maybe because they weren't in the heat of the moment, maybe because he knew he had 48 hours with Handsome fucking Jack to contend with and that was more than a little intimidating. Still, he thought he'd put on a good show.

As soon as Rhys was fully naked, Jack had instructed him into position, coaching him, before tying his arms behind his back.

"Where is it, babe?" He'd asked, a mischievous grin knifing across his face.

Rhys hadn't followed. He'd cocked an eyebrow, prompting him slowly. "It would-- help to know what ' _it_ ' is?"

Shrugging his shoulders, Jack had made a vague gesture with his hand. "Y' gotta have some kind o' toy, am I right? A needy thing like you? You gotta be _gagging_ for me most nights, Rhysie,"

And just like that, Rhys had gone so, so red. While he'd guessed Jack's intentions - figured _why_ he was asking - to admit that he was indeed that 'needy' didn't seem fair. It would be like revealing some kind of sordid love confession all over again, only ten times more humiliating.

Just because he didn't always 'get some' during the week didn't mean he'd gone and purchased an inventory of sex toys. No, it was just that Atlas was branching out into the market, that was all. He had to know what they intended to sell, right? R-Right.

Rhys had steadfastly shook his head, and had done all he could to throw Jack off the scent. The fact that he hadn't been able to meet his eyes was probably the main giveaway, or the telltale flush to his cheeks.

Jack had sneered, rifled through his bedside drawers and eventually found a collection that had made him let out a long, appraising whistle.

"Rhysie, Rhysie... an' here I was expecting more of your freakin' socks..."

Cringing for dear life, Rhys had bowed his head and subtly turned it away from Jack's direction. He hadn't been able to bear watching Jack pick through the pile before settling on a large black plug and the remote that accompanied it, turning it over in his hands for an age.

When he'd finally risked a glance, Jack had been laughing with his eyes.

Now here they were.

The older man was on the far side of the room, half-naked and lazily smoking a cigarette while relaxing back in a leather recliner. His legs were spread out, somehow holding the remote with his free hand while also palming his clothed erection.

Rhys could feel his eyes on him, watching every hitch of his breath, every tremor, every thrust of his hips.

Straining against the belt binding his wrists - his own belt, damn it all - Rhys looked over at Jack in pleasure-addled frustration. His lips formed a subtle pout, the same pout he always paired up with the low arch of his eyebrows.

"Jack..." He began, sounding croakier than he had expected. Huh. He thought he'd been holding out well up until this point. "Jack, I--"

"Oh, I'm _sorry,_ Rhysie? Did I-- Did I say you could talk?" Dark humour tremoured through Jack's voice, and he spoke as if genuinely second-guessing himself. He waited a beat, seemed to decide something, and then sneered. "Y'know what? S'funny. I _really_ don't think I did,"

With one morbid little laugh, he raised the remote in his grip and nudged the dial with his thumb.

Instantly the plug he had slotted very neatly in Rhys' ass kicked up a hell of a notch, vibrating faster, harder, making his teeth jitter.

"Haaaa..." Rhys gasped, clenching around it. The curved tip of the toy edged maddeningly close to his prostate. Slamming his eyes shut and hunching his shoulders, Rhys squatted lower, grinding his rear against the heels of his feet, trying to jolt the plug into the right position.

He began bucking his hips forwards into nothing but air. He couldn't touch himself, could only thrust back onto his own feet as if bouncing the immovable toy within him, and it wasn't _enough,_ it was driving him crazy.

_"P-Please, Jack...!"_ He cried out, unable to take much more. He was doubled-over now, knees aching, his arms going numb.

From his position he was barely able to make Jack out in the low light, but he nevertheless shot a pleading look in his direction. His golden iris began to glow with it's own luminescence, obvious even from across the room. Jack knew within seconds that Rhys' custom ECHOeye was live, attempting to override the remote in his hand. He raised it as if that might stop him, as if he were holding something out of a child's reach, and then rose to his feet.  
"Ohhh no, you don't..." He scolded, stubbing out his cigarette in the dregs of a whiskey glass. He began to pace towards him and, as he approached, Jack turned the dial those last few degrees.

It was like an electric shock. Rhys had never turned this thing up to it's maximum setting, never. He hadn't dared.  
He supposed now he'd been saving that honour for Jack.

"Aaah-haaaah!!" The cry ripped from him as his body locked up, toes curling against the tiled floor. It felt as if sweat was breaking out across his skin in an additional, permeable layer.

Jack was barely anything more than a silhouette even at this close distance, but Rhys imagined he could see the white of his teeth gleaming in the shadows, predatory and hungry. He was even sure he could hear him chuckle over the drone of the vibrating plug.

"F-Fuck..." Rhys was only grinding down on the toy harder, faster, instinctively trying to impale himself further on something that physically couldn't press any deeper. He misjudged the motion of his hips, teetered on his knees and then listed to one side. He could no more stop himself from losing balance than he could stop the groans slipping past his lips. When he fell he ensured it was on his right side. Without anyway to brace himself he hit the floor hard, his cybernetic shoulder absorbing most of the impact.

Soon he was curling up in a foetal position, hips thrusting uselessly, his cock red and swollen and leaking from the tip.

Jack stepped closer. Lit from behind by one of the ' _ambience_ ' lamps Rhys had installed, his shadow fell in such a way that it gave the impression he was leaning directly over Rhys.

"You're _re-eally_ sensitive, y'know that, pumpkin?" He said in a low voice, beginning to unbuckle his pants. "So sensitive and so freakin' needy. I bet I wouldn't even need t' touch you and you'd blow," 

He wasn't wrong. Rhys let out a moan like a sob - not because he was humiliated, but because that wasn't what he _wanted_ , damn it. He _wanted_ to be touched. To come from Jack's teasing wouldn't do at all, even if his dick throbbed tratoriously.

Writhing on the floor, attempting to get off by thrusting against his own thighs, he tipped his head back and _begged_.  
"Nononono... s-so help me, Jack, just _touch_ me!"

"Think y' can roll to face me there, sweetheart?"

Somehow Rhys managed it. Somehow he managed to rock himself back up onto his knees, still doubled-over, and forced himself to tip back onto his other side. He half-imagined the plug was practically thrusting within him from the strength of its vibrations now.

Looking up at Jack from underneath long, wet lashes, Rhys' face was mottled pink and red with layers of shame, exhertion and arousal, sweat beading on his brow. In his right frame of mind be might have been ashamed by his desperate whining, confirming just how 'needy' he was, but right now his mind was too foggy from lust to care.  
" _Ja-ack_....."

"Mhhh..." Jack finished closing the gap between them, stooping down to get a closer look at him. Now sharing the makeshift spotlight he'd prepared to highlight Rhys' "show", he seemed mostly impervious if not for the hard outline of his erection within his trousers. "This?" Jack said, reaching out to run a hand through Rhys' mussed hair. "This is my freakin' _favourite_ look of yours, babe. Look at'cha,"

Half-laughing, half-sobbing, Rhys tipped his head back into the palm of Jack's hand. "Please... just-- _f-fuck me_ already,"

The strength of his words, however, seemed to have the adverse effect. Eyes narrowing, Jack's fingers curled within Rhys' hair and held tight. "That's a dirty little mouth you have there, princess. I think you could stand to use your manners," He hissed. The threat - or mock-threat - in his voice did not go amiss. Rhys whimpered, panting, wrists fruitlessly working against the leather and cold metal of his restraints as if he could convince himself he could slip free. "Jack, please... Please, I-I'm begging you..."

"I'm listenin'. Tell me what you want, cupcake," 

_God, h_ _e's going to make me say it_ _. Of_ _**course** _ _he's going to make me say it, like I haven't already been spelling it out for him_ _._

"Y-Your cock..." Rhys pleaded, clenching and unclenching fitfully around the toy, needing more, needing _Jack_. "I want your cock. Please. I--- s-seriously-- I can't take it anymore..."

Jack's eyes blazed, but it wasn't yet enough for him. He raised his chin, made a nodding gesture as if to encourage him. "Yeah? Sit up so daddy can hear you,"  

Rhys let out a frustrated cry as he straightened, but Jack was here now, he was so, so close. It gave him the strength he needed to resist the plug and force himself upright.

It took all of his might not to tremble.

There was only a step between them, but Rhys nevertheless ambled that short distance towards Jack on his knees. His fringe was stuck wetly to his forehead, more strands joining the couple that were usually neatly twisted with gel and arranged there. 

He mouthed at the tented fabric of Jack's pants, as if he could find the zipper and pull it down with his teeth. "F-Fuck me. Please. God, I'll do anything..." 

The hand that was still fisted in his hair tugged hard at the back of his head, forcing Rhys to look heavenward into the blue and green eyes boring down on him. He might have whimpered - Rhys was too past it to tell what sounds were coming out of his mouth.

Assessing the desperation in Rhys' face, Jack crouched slowly, _slowly_ down. He reminded Rhys of a drill sergeant inspecting a cadet who'd dropped to the tarmac. Power rippled off of him; power and twisted pleasure. He _liked_ seeing him like this, pitiful sight as it was, but there was something else too, something that broke the metaphor. Rhys knew better than to convince himself it was anything more than lust and yet he could tell from the gleam in Jack's eyes that he wanted him just as much as he did.

"Okay, kitten," He said in a voice that was somehow both soft and vulgar. "Show's over,"

Reaching around with a surprisingly deft hand, Jack located the hilt of the plug and tugged the toy free. He shut it off from the manual controls mounted into the base, and tossed it over his shoulder, forgotten.

Rhys convulsed, moaning with both grief at the loss, relief and the hope for more. 

" _You want me, cupcake_?" There was no more bravado in Jack's voice. He spoke in a growl, thick with adrenaline, testosterone and all manner of carnal instinct. He unfastened and shoved his trousers down with an urgency that was almost frightening.

"I want you..." Rhys' voice was no more than a breath, choked at the sight of Jack kicking off his pants. "G-God, I want you so fucking much,"

The next thing he knew, the world was literally spinning. Rhys felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him, like he'd been rugby-tackled and was about to collide hard with the floor once more. 

Jack must have picked him up and manhandled him onto the bed, because he felt himself sinking face-first into the mattress, ass in the air.

When Jack entered him, Rhys whined into the bedsheet, trailing off into pockets of relieved, near-hysterical laughter. He thought he was going to break from pleasure, comimg hard the instant Jack thrust in to the hilt.

He didn't have a chance to ride out his release.

Normally Jack was aggressively vocal in the bedroom, all hot gasps, grunts and tapered moans. Some dirty talk, perhaps, or words of encouragement. Now he was letting their bodies do the talking, slapping wetly in and out, his hips smacking loudly against him.

He pulled on the belt still holding Rhys' arms against his back, pounding into him with such merciless force. 

Sanity couldn't have felt so far away.

Reality seemed to pick itself apart until there was nothing. No up or down, no right or wrong, no reasons why or why not. There was only this dark room and Jack's name on Rhys' tongue and Jack inside of him.

_I'm addicted to_ _this,_ Rhys realised, taking every thrust, groaning open-mouthed and drooling into the bed. His thoughts raced at speed - if they'd been spoken aloud there would have been no breath inbetween.

_I'm addicted and there's no helping me and oh God, I think he's gonna be the death of me..._

But he'd made some kind of peace with that. Whatever they had, however fucked up it was, it was binding.

He needed him, needed this feeling. He needed it more than he needed air.

He hadn't "thrown himself in the deep-end" by taking over Atlas. His company was shallow waters by comparison.  
_This_ \- whatever 'this' was - was it. He was sinking, drowning, right here and right now. He'd be kidding himself if he didn't think he'd dive in each and every time. 


End file.
